


Trophy

by confiscatedretina



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confiscatedretina/pseuds/confiscatedretina
Summary: The bad ending.





	Trophy

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Halestorm's [Innocence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CRNN5fiEwI). Well, the long, drawn out decades leading up to this short scene were, anyway.

He hangs from arms gone senseless long ago. Blood trickling from ropes which chafed his wrists to the bone years ago wets his shoulders. Black hair hangs matted over closed eyes. But for the steady rasp of breath, he could have been dead.

She remembers feeling strange, nameless emotions for him. It was a long time ago, years and decades beyond count. Sometimes she comes to stare at him hanging like a trophy just to appreciate that she is no longer that young, naïve fool of a girl. The man had fallen at her feet and given up the only weapon which could have stopped her. In time, she found it funny and pathetic and forgot what it was to be sad or afraid. She was her father’s triumph, his perfect weapon and beautiful daughter, made in his glorious image. It made her feel proud and strong that this sad man who could only wish for death was given to her as a gift.

His body is riddled with scars, the old trails of talons and fire etched over his naked skin. He hasn’t screamed for years and he stopped begging decades ago. She wonders sometimes if he remembers anything about who he is or was. All she remembers is that he was, ultimately, not so difficult to cage and tame as her father and mother had thought. Humans were all the same, all weak to their base animal urges, and it had been as easy as that to bring him down. She’s glad she purged herself of such weaknesses long ago.

But she still desires from time to time. A moment of concentration and she forms a mouth, vocal chords, lungs, lips. Teeth sharp enough to cut. He doesn’t flinch when she places a clawed hand on his ragged chest, softened to the texture of warm skin. She leans close and breaths against his ear.

“No…” his voice is a croaking husk. “Ashi…”

Hers is perfect and new, the way he’d remember if he can. “Hello, Jack.”


End file.
